


moment of weakness

by wintersoldier1989



Category: Actor RPF, Evanstan - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23006518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersoldier1989/pseuds/wintersoldier1989
Summary: a light night, slightly angsty rambling of my sleep-deprived mind.Chris can't help but give in to a toxic combination of exhaustion, reminiscing and arousal.
Relationships: Chris Evans & Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70





	moment of weakness

Water beats down on Chris, the sopping strands of his hair clinging to his face while he stands idle in the shower spray. His muscles ache from the long day. 

People are always telling him how incredible it is when he trains endlessly to execute physically demanding stunts day in and out on set. But what those same people don’t understand, is just how truly exhausting it is to _talk_ all day. 

He’s had a long day, and right now he’d give anything to cuddle up with Dodger and sleep for the next two days straight. Unfortunately, that plan will have to wait a little longer seeing as they’ve got two more days of back-to-back interviews scheduled on Capitol Hill. 

It’s different being on the other side of the camera, being the one to ask the questions rather than answer them.That part he didn’t mind, found it almost insightful. Seeing up close how resolute all these individuals were in their beliefs and how they thought they could make a difference. The most tiring part is the gratuitous handshakes and occasionally forced smiles he plasters on for an endless line of selfie photo ops. All a part of the gig, he supposes. 

You think he’d be used to it by now, with the countless number of press junkets he’d done over the years. Though, being trapped in a hotel conference room for hours on end with a camera in his face would be preferable to the day he’d just had. At least during the junkets he’d been able to keep things light, shoot the shit with Mark, Hemmy or Sebastian next to him.

_Fuck._

He doesn’t know why he lets himself think about it. Think about _him_.

Though he knows these are the times he’s most susceptible. When he’s downright exhausted and with his defenses his down, his subconscious always comes knocking.

Chris is quick to crank the shower knob up to full force, hoping the sounds and sting of the water will somehow quiet his mind. But it doesn’t work, it never does. Instead he can feel his skin start to heat. And while he’d love to blame it on the scalding water coursing down his back, he knows all too well, what the source is.

It’s that fucking smirk of a smile that makes him weak in his knees. It’s the burst of genuine laughter that would sing in his ears at each one of his corny dad jokes. It’s the unforgettable body that melded so perfectly to his own. It’s Sebastian.

Chris scrubs his hands over his face, half in frustration, half in defeat. 

_This is the last time_. He tells himself; or rather he lies to himself.

And with that, Chris reaches between his legs and wraps his fist around the base of his cock.

He’s not fully hard, but from past experience he knows that with a couple of good jerks and a probably ill-advised trip down memory lane, it won’t take long.

Chris widens his stance and closes his eyes, giving himself over his most basic instincts; though he knows that as soon as his body is dry and he’s laying alone in the sprawling hotel bed, he’ll regret it.

Gently stroking himself, he lets his mind begin to wander away from lonely nights in eerily quiet hotel rooms to less prudents nights spent with his body clung to Sebastian. Stumbling against door frames and almost falling off of the mattress as they rushed to get each other’s clothes off.

Chris’ dick grows thick as he remembers Sebastian’s breathy moans in his ear, the ones that always followed the small discontented whimpers when he didn’t move fast enough. He couldn’t help it though; the way he wanted to savour every inch of Sebastian’s skin by playing with his nipples and sucking a torturous bruise along his collarbone. He would whisper little compliments against his lover’s skin, and Chris never tired of the way Seb’s cheeks would flush hot at the praise.

He props himself against the glass tile, his weight propped on his left arm while he begins to stroke in earnest. 

“So good for me baby,” Chris mutters in the otherwise empty shower stall, completely lost in his reverie as he imagines Sebastian spread open for him. His sweet pucker of pink skin, open and ready for Chris to take him.

Chris collects the precome leaking from his cock and covers himself, his hand gripping tighter and moving faster now. The muscles in his neck are tight as he teeters on the cusp of release. He’s hungry for it and both his body and mind are chasing the sweet relief of orgasm.

Chris’ breath hitches, getting closer and closer. His fist pumps steadily along his length and his palm plays with his tip before each downstroke; he can all but feel Sebastian’s body under him. The perfect heat of his ass swallowing him whole until Chris isn’t sure what’s real anymore.

“Fuck,” he grunts when he finally comes. He tugs firmly, relishing in each shudder of pleasure that runs through him. Coming down is the worst part, and he only knows that from experience. Each time Chris indulges himself with these salacious memories he can’t help the way he’s overcome with shame as he rinses any evidence of his orgasm off of his body. 

Stepping out of the shower and runs the soft terry cloth over his head before he ties it around his waist. He doesn’t bother with pajamas; Chris slides under the luxurious duvet and between the high-thread count sheets, eager for sleep. He curses himself for once again exploiting sacred memories of someone he loves for the fleeting high of a momentary fix. He’s too tired to debate the ethics of his actions with himself tonight and instead decides to get some much needed rest. 

And Chris is rewarded, because when he finally closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, his dreams are sweet. 

He dreams of that fucking smirk of a smile that makes him weak in his knees and the burst of genuine laughter that sings in his ears at each one of his corny dad jokes. He dreams of the irresistible body that melds so perfectly to his own. He dreams of _Sebastian_.


End file.
